


All's Fair

by makingtriangles (electricbloo)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Medical, Survival, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricbloo/pseuds/makingtriangles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1916, somewhere near Arras, France. Corporal Karkat Vantas is a field medic on the Western Front, stationed alongside Lieutenant David Strider's command, and there's something about Strider -- something that fills Karkat with contempt and rage.</p><p>Something that draws him in like a moth to a flame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair

**Author's Note:**

> What am I even doing? Where am I going with this? Why did I think this was a good idea to share with the world? This fic has become like some kind of crazy infection. It's invaded my brain. I think it's terminal, guys.
> 
> I'm trying to be as historically accurate as possible, but I'm not gonna be perfect, despite the hours and hours and hours of research I've put into this. Also, the dialogue is not gonna be perfectly British -- their voices just sounded so unlike them when I attempted to write it that way, so the Briticisms are more in vocabulary rather than sentence structure and emphasis. So yes, I am aware. º-º
> 
> Hopefully most of you guys are just here for the porn and don't give a fuck. ºuº Bless you people. (Yes, there will be porn eventually.)
> 
> Also, is this a longfic entry for the [Davekat fanfiction contest](http://ss-davekat.tumblr.com/post/19865140849/)? It was inspired by the theme but I don't know yet if I'll enter it since I already entered one and augh º~º

It took a few, heart-stopping moments after the explosion for the pain to set in.

Karkat let out a furious yell that was more angry than pained, pushing at the rubble covering him with shaking hands. He felt bruised and dented all over, like an apple that had been rolling around in the floorboards of a train. The worst pain came from his right leg, and in the dim light he finally saw why; there was a large gash along the middle of this thigh, almost down to his knee.

"Oh _fuck_ ," he said, almost reverently, ripping the tear in his blood-soaked trousers wider, as wide as he could. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." he repeated to himself, trying to steady his nerves, his hands, as he unslung his medic's pack from his shoulder.

He pulled his electric torch from a loop sewn on the side of the pack. He flicked it on, setting it beside him on a chunk of wood from what had been one of the supporting beams in the officer's headquarters. The wound was fairly shallow, but was still bleeding a lot; it might require sutures but stitching up a wound that had been improperly cleansed was idiotic...Karkat pulled out a package of bandages and ripped it open with his teeth. All he could do now was to put pressure on it and hope he got pulled out of this fucking collapsed trench.

A groan of pain floated out from the opposite corner, and Karkat finished off the bandage with a tight knot and shoved himself clumsily to his feet. He grabbed his torch and turned it off; the explosion had collapsed most of the room, and now there was a long crack along what had been the ceiling, letting in a little light along the far wall.

"Lieutenant?" Karkat rasped, limping across the room. There was no answer.

Lieutenant Strider was on the ground, seemingly unconscious, with a bloody gash on his head. "God fucking damn it," Karkat hissed, lowering himself painfully to the uneven floor. "Lieutenant! Strider! Answer me." Strider groaned, letting his head fall to one side, and Karkat's hands went to the pocket in Strider's jacket where he knew his field dressing would be.

Karkat tilted Strider's head from side to side, examining the wound, lifted his eyelids, felt his pulse. "Fuck you, you jumped-up git, talk to me. Stay with me."

"What...happened..."

"Perhaps the fucking Germans weren't finished with those mining operations, and blew our feet right out from under us? The rest of the trench is a bloody crater, I imagine, so consider yourself lucky."

Strider fell silent again, and Karkat slapped him gently on the cheek. "Stay with me. Name and rank, soldier."

"Lieutenant David Strider, British XVII Corps..." he trailed off. Karkat smacked his face again, a little, and Strider blinked up at him, unfocused and bleary. "J...John?"

"No, it's Corporal Vantas, but we can work with that. Who's John? Tell me about him. Keep talking."

"He's..." Strider's eyebrows were drawn, confused, and he tried unsuccessfully to shake his head out of Karkat's grip on his chin. "My...best mate. Oxford. What's going on?"

"Just keep talking." Karkat pulled cotton gauze from his pack and began to daub up the blood from Strider's forehead. He could feel blood soaking through his own bandage; his head was starting to feel light. "So, Oxford. Of fucking course. What did you do there with your best mate? I'm sure you're able to tell plenty of stories about drinking the fucking finest aged port and seducing the most promiscuous peeresses behind, I don't know, velvet drapes?"

"Fuck you, Corporal." Strider's eyes were focussing on him, now, and Karkat snorted.

"There you are, Lieutenant. If I have to I'll insult you all night."

Strider's wound was shallower than it first appeared; there was no damage to the skull, but concussion was likely. "How do you feel? Sleepy? Dizzy?"

"I feel a bit dizzy..." Strider's eyes were starting to slip shut again, and Karkat swabbed at the edge of the wound a little harder than he would otherwise. Strider's eyes flew open.

"Stay awake. I think you may be concussed, and I don't want to risk it." Karkat ripped open Strider's field dressing and started bandaging his forehead. "What did I fucking tell you?" Strider's eyelids were fluttering. "Tell me more about John. How did you meet?"

"My...sister. Introduced us. Thought we would get along. And...we did."

"What's your sister's name?"

"Rose. Actually my...half-sister. My mother died when I was a baby. Father remarried soon afterwards."

Karkat finished fastening the bandage. "Hold that. Tightly. What does your father do?"

Strider obeyed, wincing. "He's dead. Owned...factories in Birmingham. My brother owns them now."

"Tell me about your brother." Karkat let himself fall backwards onto his ass, his leg a huge shaky mess. He pulled more bandages out of his pack, tying them over the blood-soaked one already in place.

"He...does fucking everything. Motion pictures. Managing factories. Inventing...five new highly efficient gear shafts. Everything but...the military. Are you...hurt?"

Karkat snorted. "Obviously." He gritted his teeth in pain, the knot he'd just done in the bandage not even a quarter as neat as usual. "So you wanted a little niche of your own to fill? Wanted to walk in shoes that weren't your brother's old cast offs?"

"Fuck you." Strider's eyes seemed brighter, now, less woozy.

"And you chose the fucking Army like a good little Englishman, and were flown all the way up to Lieutenant without so much as witnessing a single ugly drop of blood. Well. Welcome to the fucking war, you empty-headed prick."

Strider was staring at him, first in shock, then in fury. "What the _fuck_ is your problem?"

Karkat fell back against the floor, shaking all over with pain and the fear that was only just now catching up to him. He started to laugh.


End file.
